Untitled Literati Project
by daughtersofthesun
Summary: "I heard this rumor, though, that the best man gets to walk the maid of honor down the aisle." He stops in the doorway, his face a mere two feet from hers, completely straight and void of any and all telling emotion. "So I guess I'll see you in a few hours." Post series multi-chapter future!Lit.
1. 1

**Author's note:** Having been unendingly dissatisfied with the way the series ended (more specifically, the lack of Sherman-Palladino's original Literati endgame-ness), I've laid in bed many a night browsing through selection after selection of Gilmore Girls fanfiction in search of a better ending to serve as a more comforting headcanon. That was, until I realized that I had my own headcanon for the way things shouldacouldawoulda happened with Dodger and his Booktease had there been just _one more season._ And after that realization came the one that I was never going to find what I was looking for unless I wrote it myself. So here lies the beginning of a journey.

**Summary: **"I heard this rumor, though, that the best man gets to walk the maid of honor down the aisle." He stops in the doorway, his face a mere two feet from hers, completely straight and void of any and all telling emotion. "So I guess I'll see you in a few hours." Post series multi-chapter future!Lit.

**Disclaimer:** I would tell you I own "Gilmore Girls" but I can't because you know they don't allow anything on the internet that isn't true.

* * *

_one._

* * *

He doesn't show up to the rehearsal dinner. At first she thinks, _"typical Jess,"_ but then her mother informs her that he'd opted to work today instead of taking the day off and he'll be driving in in the morning. And that's not typical Jess at all. That's responsible and mature and not at all indicative of the Jess she once knew. Maybe he really _had_ grown up and that vision of him that night at Truncheon hadn't all been just an elaborate ruse to make her think he'd changed and was somehow now to be deemed worthy of her by the people of her kingdom, when all she'd really wanted back when they were kids was him.

Speaking of that night at Truncheon, she doubts he'll want anything to do with her come tomorrow. She fears she'd messed up even any prospective friendship between future Jess and Rory when she'd tried to use him the way she had.

She walks herself down the aisle during the rehearsal. She'd known all along that Luke was going to ask Jess to be his best man; she'd just opted to ignore it until the last possible moment — that moment being right now as she stands to Lorelai's right and no one stands to Luke's left. She wished she had no history with Jess, had never met him, didn't even know him, never loved him, harbored no ill feelings or surpressed feelings or any feelings at all. That maybe T.J. would be Luke's best man or some other relative. That maybe Rory's very first encounter with Luke's long lost nephew would be at the wedding, a drunken encounter filled with heated attraction and ending in the inevitable one-night stand. But that's not what's on the agenda for tomorrow — just a lot of avoiding, guilt, pretending, and self-loathing.

But this is her mother's big day, a day that has been a long time coming. And she will try to enjoy it for her sake. She wants to enjoy it. She should enjoy it. So she will try not to think of him.

Next is a three-course dinner being served by the Gilmores' most recent maid. Jess's assigned seat is next to Luke and she automatically thinks of him again, but T.J. sits there instead and Rory has to listen to him and Liz go on and on about Doula throughout all three courses. Not that she doesn't love Doula, but she doesn't really think that being able to blow snot bubbles as big as a quarter is as great of an accomplishment for the eight-month-old as her parents seem to think. Everyone is in good spirits, though, especially Lorelai, who hasn't stopped smiling all night. And even Emily hasn't found a reason to ruin the happy mood yet.

_Yet_.

"Oh, it's such a shame that Logan couldn't make it to be Rory's date to the wedding," Emily muses out loud to no one in particular.

Rory knows better than to argue. "He's really busy at work right now."

"Yes, I heard from Margarie Gold, who heard from her niece's husband, that he's starting his own business in California? Good for him. Must be tough for him to do without you by his side."

Rory glances to Lorelai who seems oblivious to the conversation and trapped in a trance where everything is Luke Danes and nothing hurts, and she is glad because she knows her mother wouldn't have the same calm composure about the issue that Rory herself has.

"Well, he wanted to get out from beneath Mitchum's thumb, and that's what he's doing. It's good for him, being alone, I think. He doesn't need any distractions right now."

"Oh, I hardly think you'd classify as a distraction, Rory," Emily insists. "More of a... steadfast companion."

Rory sighs but continues to smile at her grandmother because that's what she always does. "I told you, Grandma, I wasn't ready to get married."

Emily acts as though she hasn't even heard Rory, not this time nor the twenty-something previous times she'd said the same, either.

"All great businessmen need a good woman in their lives. How do you think your grandfather has managed to do so well for himself all these years? Because I was by his side. To make sure he stood by his commitments. And I entertained his guests and preserved his reputation as a man who meets deadlines and maintains relationships and keeps his priorities in line. It is a very fulfilling life's work." She finishes off her spiel with an air of superiority. "I am his greatest attribute." She then nudges Richard, who is staring intently at his nearly untouched food and not paying a lick of attention. "Isn't that right, Richard?"

Richard seems to be snapped out of a reverie and comes to attention at once. "Oh, y- yes, my dear."

Rory looks down at her plate as well and then back up to her grandmother. "That life might've been good for you, Grandma, but I don't want to be the first lady. I want to be the president."

"Nonsense," Emily replies with a wave of her hand through the air. "Logan will make a fine CEO," she says, and Rory knows her grandmother hasn't understood a word of what Rory'd meant.

In truth, Rory actually had called Logan to invite him to the wedding. Not necessarily as her date, per se, but just out of common courtesy. He had been a part of her life for a while, and consequently Lorelai's life, and she'd known he'd've been hurt had he not at least recieved an invitation. Emily, however, was unendingly hopeful about a Rory/Logan reunion, something Rory really doubted would ever happen. She'd missed her shot with Logan, and although she wasn't happy about him being gone and she missed him every single night, she wasn't exactly unhappy about it either, as it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders the moment he'd taken himself out of the equation. Besides. There was only one man who Rory silently regarded as The One That Got Away, and the titular role had already been appointed long before meeting one Logan Huntzberger.

* * *

She wakes up in the middle of the night to an evil force shaking the bed she lies upon.

"Rory! Rory, wake up!"

She opens her eyes and doesn't see the furnishings of her small New York apartment, but instead a bulletin board filled with miscellaneous Yale paraphernalia and her mother's distraught expression.

"Please don't tell me you're waking me up because you want to go on a spontaneous adventure, because I love Luke and I swear I won't forgive you this time."

"No, no, no, that's not it. It's just that this is my last night of freedom, you know? I should be out doing something crazy, something memorable... Something I'll probably regret in the morning!"

"We already had the bachelorette party, Mom, remember? You dragged us to that awful drag club."

Lorelai scoffs. "Ugh, you're right! That guy was _so_ not Tina Turner. Tina Fey, maybe."

"Go back to bed, Mom."

Lorelai continues to bounce against the mattress. "Come on! Come do something crazy with me!"

Rory resigns and sits up in bed, to which Lorelai claps. "There's not much crazy we can do in Stars Hollow. Unless you wanna break into Miss Patty's and rob Doose's in costume, or something." And when Lorelai's eyes light up at the suggestion, Rory is quick to point a finger in her face as if scolding a child. "No."

Lorelai sticks her bottom lip out as if she's a child and gives her daughter a light shove. "When did you become such an adult?" she whines.

"When it became clear that you'd opted to be the child out of the two of us," Rory answers.

"Aw, no fair!"

Rory just looks at her.

"Okay, somewhat fair."

"So, can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure. Scoot over."

"What?"

"I don't want to sleep alone. This is the very first night I've slept alone since we got back together. I'm not used to it. It's so cold in my room." She sticks her bottom lip out again, this time paired with puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

"Fine," Rory sighs and scoots over, allowing Lorelai the room to slide in under the covers beside her.

And just when Rory believes she's finally going to be allowed to continue her rest, Lorelai whispers. "I'm scared."

"You've no reason to be," Rory all but mumbles. She's no good at reassuring comfort at this time of night. "You're supposed to be with Luke. Everyone knows it."

"I know. I like him."

"Good. That's generally a positive sign when it comes to choosing a mate."

Rory feels her mother sigh sleepily behind her ear. "Mrs. Backwards Baseball Cap," she says.

"Mrs. Backwards Baseball Cap," Rory repeats.

* * *

"I don't know how many times I have told you, Lorelai, that your hair does not look good up! You don't have delicate features like Rory. Your face will look much more masculine without your hair down. It will soften your features. Trust me."

"Yes, Mom, but that will defeat the whole point of the lumberjack theme of the wedding. My hair up and walking down the aisle carrying a hatchet instead of a bouquet. That's all right up Luke's alley. Gonna light a fire in his skivvies and get him all ready for the honeymoon."

"I know how much you adore your jokes, but now is hardly the time. This is the most important day of your life!"

"Okay, but you also said that about the day of Rory's birth, my debuntante ball, my almost-wedding to Max, _and_ my second grade spelling bee. And I think I wore my hair up to all of those."

"Whatever, Lorelai! Have it your way! But you'll see in the wedding photos, and you'll wish you'd have listened to me."

This summarizes the dialogue that Rory has been listening to for the past two hours now — Lorelai and Emily bickering back and forth. Sookie had snuck out to the kitchen about forty-five minutes ago with the excuse that she needed to make some last minute preparations to the reception refreshments, and Lane as well to soundcheck the band, leaving Rory to stand between the wrath of Emily and the stubborness of Lorelai.

"So. Mom? What should I tell Babette? How do you want it?"

Lorelai purses her lips and pulls her hair up to the top of her head, looking at herself in the mirror. She sucks her cheeks in and moves her head from side to side, checking the angles. Then she drops it.

"Down will be fine."

Emily smiles.

"Okay. I'll go get her."

Rory had been looking forward to this moment for the past twenty minutes now ever since Lorelai had decided that it was time to do her hair, the moment when she could leave the room in search of Babette and get a break from those two. She finds her former neighbor at the piano with Morey.

"Oh, hey, sugar!" the woman says in her signature rasp. "Morey saw the piano, of course, and he just started to play, and you know how hot and bothered that gets me, and I totally lost track of time!"

"Mom just finally decided what she wants to do with her hair anyway, although by the time we make it back she'll probably have changed her mind again," Rory answers with a grin and a roll of her eyes.

She directs Babette to the first floor room of The Dragonfly that they'd transformed into the bride's room, and as soon as they come to the hallway she hears Emily's nasally voice scolding her mother once more, and her shoulders feel heavy.

"You go on in, Babette. I'm gonna go step outside and get some fresh air."

"Okay, sugar."

So Rory saunters off in the direction of the front door, desperate for some long-awaited peace and quiet and probably a cup of coffee in a few minutes.

She doesn't notice him until she's already on the porch.

She stands there in the doorway for a few moments, unsure of what to say and wondering if he hadn't heard the door swing open and if she can't still turn back without being noticed and how it is that she's so far in tune to her own inner monologue that she'd failed to assess the figure of another human being on the porch before coming through the door.

His hair is gelled to the side in that sexy way it had been that night at Truncheon. He wears a long-sleeved gray sweatshirt and dark wash jeans, and a cloud of smoke fills the air around his face when he speaks.

"You gonna sit down, or what?"

He'd heard the door, then. And he is now aware of a presence behind him. But he doesn't know it's her. She can still sneak back inside and he'll never know...

"I can hear you, Rory."

She chastises herself internally for not turning back when she'd had the chance. "How did you know it was me?"

He chuckles and blows more smoke, effectively polluting the crisp Connecticut air. "Only you would come out here and not say anything to me."

She says nothing, for he's right — she has nothing to say.

"You can sit if you'd like. I haven't claimed full ownership of these porch steps yet. The papers are still going through."

And she's a comeback to match. "Secondhand smoke kind of nulls the whole 'getting some fresh air' thing."

He swivels his upper body to the side and she sees his face for the first time, signaling a familiar pang in her chest that she can't (won't) put a name to. The brown skin, the crooked mouth, the dark eyes always sparkling and scheming. He holds out a little plastic tube into her vision.

"It's an e-cigarette, see? Water vapor. Completely harmless."

As if to prove his point, he takes a long drag of it and blows impressively shaped rings into the air. Rory wishes he wasn't good at that and that it didn't make her want to sit down beside him and pick his brain apart to find the reasons to explain why they were the way they were, the reason why he is lighthearted and she is hostile and how their roles used to be reversed.

Still, she remains standing. "You shouldn't smoke, you know. It's nothing but a prolonged suicide."

His signature smirk. "Ah, but there's no tobacco in it. I'm nicotine free these days. It's just the repeated hand-to-mouth action that helps. Tricks your brain."

Rory wonders if this is just what he tells himself to justify the cravings he gets, because she knows that there is no force on earth clever enough to get one over on the mind of Jess Mariano.

Then he stands and pockets the cigarette. "Missed your chance, Gilmore. I told Luke I'd only be a minute. He's acting uncharacteristically prissy today." His signature shrug. "Didn't know he had it in him."

He walks towards her, and as he does, he says somewhat patronizingly, "I heard this rumor, though, that the best man gets to walk the maid of honor down the aisle." He stops in the doorway, his face a mere two feet from hers, completely straight and void of any and all telling emotion. "So I guess I'll see you in a few hours."

And then he's gone, and she's standing on the porch by herself, and she just wants to clamp her palms over her ears, squat down to the ground and scream and scream and scream until her throat goes raw. But instead she wipes them on her skirt and clears her throat and makes her way back to the bride's room, still uptight and caffeine deprived, dreading the moment when she will have to slide her arm through the one belonging to the man who is now only but a shadow of the boy she once knew.

* * *

**A/n:** Yo, so are their voices right? That's what I'm most concerned about since it's been a while since I've written them. Feedback inspires!


	2. 2

.

_two._

* * *

Her dress is royal blue with a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that flows outward and stops right above her knees. Lorelai looks so beautiful she could cry and she almost does. She meets him in his royal blue vest on the porch. They stand at the door with T.J. and Sookie between them and Lorelai.

Zach begins plucking "The Wedding March" on his acoustic and Kirk opens the door and she can see Luke looking alarmingly nervous but handsome in his tuxedo. Jess clears his throat and all but jabs his elbow into Rory's ribcage and she unwillingly places her arm through his.

The Dragonfly is filled to the brim with a misdemeanor's worth of the finest Stars Hollow folk and a small handful of out-of-towners. Rory is grateful for the positive turn out and even more grateful when they reach the altar and she is able to part ways from her former flame. (It seems that even this most slight of contact had brought a certain naus with it.)

Sookie and T.J. aren't far behind and then the mood of the room changes entirely and the whole band joins in with Zach to play a soft and sweet rendition of "Here Comes The Bride."

Richard walks Lorelai down the aisle. And this time, Rory really does cry. She takes her mother's bouquet and kisses her.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, kid."

Michel had gotten certified as an ordained minister online, and he stands before the bride and groom and asks who is giving away this woman. Richard stands before his seat on the front row. "I am," he says.

And then Emily stands from her seat next to him, tears in her eyes as well. "As am I."

And before she has made the conscious decision to, Rory also steps forward. Because if Lorelai is anybody's to give, she's not Richard's or Emily's. She's _Rory's_.

"I am, too, minister," Rory says.

And so Sookie pipes in with a giggle and an, "Oh! Me, too!"

And then Rory hears a rustle coming from her right and an accidental brushing against a drum cymbal, and she looks to see that Lane is standing. And then Zach, and Brian, and Gil, too.

She looks back towards the audience then, and the guests begin to rise to their feet. First one by one, then two by two, and then everyone else all at once. Miss Patty, Babette and Morey, Kirk and LuLu, Taylor, Jackson, Paris, Gypsy, Andrew, and even Mrs. Kim and the town troubadour. Everyone who'd ever loved Lorelai and has ever claimed any percentage of her heart. An awed smile takes over Rory's face, and she glances over at her mother, and Lorelai has glassy eyes and a hand over her mouth in shock and looks as if she's about to burst into tears or laughter or both.

And then Michel throws up his hands. "Oh, what the hell. I give you away, too," and laughter springs out amongst the guests.

Her mother and Luke recite their vows, the "repeat after me" kind since Luke's never been too big on either customization or sentimental prose. Then somehow someone (whom she later finds out had been April) lets Paul Anka loose from somewhere and he tiptoes to Lorelai skeptically as she calls to him and Luke unties the ring box from his collar.

"Do you, Luke, take Lorelai Victoria Gilmore to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"And do you, Lorelai, take Luke William Danes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

Someone in the crowd shouts "Finally!" and Rory can't tell who it was although she thinks it might've been Andrew. Then everyone laughs and Michel pronounces them man and wife and Luke kisses his bride and the entire town of Stars Hollow jumps up from their seats and claps and cheers and whistles and hoots and hollers because its queen has finally chosen its king to be _her_ king.

Luke takes Lorelai's face in his hands and kisses her, and all the while the crowd continues to applaud their approval.

"I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Luke Danes!"

And this time when Rory has to slide her arm through his again and walk back up the aisle, she's too blissful to remember that it's supposed to make her feel nauseous.

* * *

There's a double reception — endless food courtesy of Sookie in the dining room and endless dancing to covers by Hep Alien in the barn. The newlyweds toast with a clinking of champagne glasses and Rory has never seen Luke smile this much in her life. The couple dance their first dance and Gil sings a lot of The Bangles and Miss Patty lunges to catch the bouquet and one of Luke's cousins catches the garter. Lorelai dances with Richard and April dances with Luke and then Rory takes turns dancing with both of them and everyone pins bills to them for the money dance. Rory has a sudden hostile wish that her dad was here to see how happy Lorelai is, and she's happy when Logan doesn't show because she knows she'd lonely fall back into his arms because everyone seems to be happy but her.

She finds him holding up the wall with a beer in hand, and when he notices her staring he smirks at her and this makes her so unreasonably angry that she marches herself over to him.

"Nice ceremony, huh?" he says between swigs.

"Why don't you hate me?"

He swallows hard and looks at her as if she's just announced she's pregnant. "Beg pardon?"

"Did you suffer massive head trauma since the last time I saw you?"

"Not that I can remember. But if I did, I wouldn't remember it anywyay, right?"

Rory has no patience for his jokes, and she continues to come at him with a harsh tone. "I treated you pretty awfully last time we saw each other. Why aren't you mad?"

He takes the last sip of his beer and effortlessly tosses the empty bottle over her head and into the nearest trashcan. "So, I don't see the blonde dick around anywhere."

She crosses her arms and keeps her voice short. "He couldn't make it."

"Ah, so he's been dicking around elsewhere lately?"

"California."

"That must be nice. If you ever find your way around L.A., I know of some cool book shops," he offers, but with a mocking tone. "You do still read, right?"

"Yes, I still_ read_. And, yes, I still breathe. But I live in New York."

He lifts his brows, but not in a shocked way. He's definitely mocking her. "That's a little far from lover boy."

"Yeah, it is." She knows he assumes she and Logan are still together, otherwise he wouldn't be asking questions. But she feels as though she has a one up on him for some reason, and she has no immediate desire to let him hold all of the cards.

"Long distance must be tough, huh?"

"Why don't you hate me?"

He sighs and gives up his little question and answer game. "I meant what I said last time. It is what it is. There's no going back or changing it. And your mom just married my uncle, which makes us related in a weird sorta way, so I worked it out in my brain and there's not really any way we can continue to avoid each other for the rest of our lives. So we might as well put the past in the past and be civil. You know. For them."

And that's when Rory realizes that Jess is a much bigger person than she. "Logan and I broke up."

He nods once. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says, but she gets the feeling that he'd really known all along.

"No, you aren't," she says.

"No, I'm not," he agrees with a smirk.

And then they're just standing there, and she has nothing further to say to him. Just because they have to remain civil doesn't mean they have to become besties. She's about to open her mouth to give him some excuse for why she has to go, but he opens his first.

"So. How 'bout a drink, _cousin?_"

And that's an offer that she's really in no position to refuse.

So that's how they end up sitting in a couple of chairs near the back of the barn, him with another beer, and then another and another, and her on her third glass of wine.

"Okay, okay," he says. "Top five books."

"Fiction or non?"

"Either."

Rory ponders his challenge for a few moments before giving up. "You know I can't do that. Authors would be easier."

"Fine. Authors."

"Okay, um... Rand, of course... Brönte, Plath, Austen... Tolstoy, Ginsberg, Dickens..."

"That's seven."

"Oh, and one more."

"Please don't say me."

"No. Of course not. Judy Blume."

"Seriously?"

"She helped shape me through my formative years."

He smirks at her, amused. "Okay. Your turn."

She takes a long gulp from her wine glass while thinking. "Okay. Top five albums."

He shakes his head. "Nope. Impossible."

"See!" she laughs. "Top five bands, then."

"Artists count?"

"Sure."

"The Clash, Metallica, The Distillers, Tool..."

Rory nods. "All classics."

"And I've been really into Jack Johnson recently, believe it or not."

She raises her brows.

"What?"

"Never expected you'd turn into a hipster. I was pretty sure you were gonna be a Bender all your life."

He puts a hand to his chest. "Ouch," he says. "A man can't be sensitive every now and then?"

She nearly spits her wine. "Now that's something I'd never thought I'd hear."

"And if I wasn't a little bit drunk right now you'd've never heard it. But it's my turn again."

"Shoot."

He looks up, searching, and she dares to think how attractive he is here in his unbuttoned white Oxford over a white v-neck and slim fitting black slacks. His eyes start to twinkle, and maybe it's the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"Okay. Top five regrets."

This request puzzles her. "Regrets?"

"Definition: something you wish you hadn't done. Need it in a sentence?"

"Give me a minute."

This answer takes longer than the others to come up with, but only because she's digging into the outer confines of her mind for other less significant mistakes to mask the one that first came to mind.

"Clock's ticking."

She finds a good replacement for the inevitable. "Dropping out of Yale."

"But you went back."

"Yeah, but I would've graduated sooner. Maybe had found quicker opportunities."

"You loved the campaign trail," he says with a knowing smirk.

"You wanna hear the other four or not?"

He leans back in his seat and gestures for her to continue.

"Alienating my mom, stealing a boat and getting arrested, that awful short haircut I had freshman year, and you."

He doesn't look surprised in the least. "What about me?"

"Just you in general," she says honestly, and she knows it's the drinks talking. "You were bad news. And everyone warned me, but I didn't listen. I thought I saw more in you, and I know I did, but we were too young, and you didn't. And you really broke my heart."

Rory expects him to come back at her with a justification for his past actions, but he just purses his lips.

"Wow. I figured I'd be on the list, but I at least thought I'd come before losing your virginity to a married beanstalk."

She silently admits she'd forgotten about that one, but not verbally. "How'd you know about that?" she asks, embarrassed.

"I subscribe to Stars Hollow juice dot org, freshly squeezed, not from concentrate. I know that Kirk got a cat; Miss Patty is on husband number six; and your parents were married for, like, two minutes."

"I think it was actually more like a minute and a half."

He stretches out his arms behind his head. "You're right, though. We were way too young. Maybe if we'd been forty."

Another gulp of wine. "Yeah?"

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Yeah. You'd be divorced but you'd still wear your rock of a ring at the bar so men won't hit on you. But you're drinking a Pinot Grigio and everybody knows only divorced women drink that. So I charm you with my undeniable charm, of course, and we have the drunken encounter of a lifetime."

She laughs a bit too loudly. "Will I still like you in the morning?"

He doesn't laugh at all, just stares at her with an uncomfortable intensity. "I don't know yet."

She disregards the last of her wine in favor of drinking up his golden eyes. "I shouldn't have lost my virginity to Dean," she says bravely. "It should've been you."

And that's how they end up at Luke's, all the pain and surpressed feelings and anger and hurt and missing him and regretting him and missing who she used to be and wishing things had happened differently between them or ended differently between them or maybe hadn't ever even began at all... all of it comes full circle as his hands are on her hips and her waist and her arms, pulling at her and tugging at her, pulling and tugging, pulling and tugging. And his mouth is warm against hers and his muscles are taut and she can't seem to get his shirt off fast enough.

He sweeps her off her feet, quite literally, and carries her up the stairs to the apartment and into his old room, and she finally claws his shirt off of him and tosses it to the floor and he tosses her onto his old bed.

She loves his arms as they wrap around her; she loves his hands as they explore her; she loves his fingers as they light her skin on fire. She loves his stomach as it dips into hers; she loves his chest as it rises and falls rapidly with his breathing; she loves his back as the muscles rip and curl beneath her palms. She loves his lips as they mold around hers; she loves his tongue as it meets hers sweetly; she loves his teeth as they nibble on her neck.

She says goodbye to the world as it explodes around her.

* * *

**A/n: **I know the second chapter is kind of soon for them to do the deed, but I justify it because this is supposed to be like a season 8 sort of deal and it's my vision of how the show would've continued, and it all starts with the doing of the do.

**lost0and0found:** The Rory still having feelings for him was something I was actually having trouble with. She chose Logan over him, but I however am in love with Jess, so it seems that I wrote my Rory that way as well. It was worse before I edited it, believe it or not. I read over it my first draft and I was like: Wait. Why is she all goo-goo ga-ga? So instead I tried to make her resent him. She's hostile towards him because she hates that she still has feelings for him after all these years. And also, as I put in this chapter, she's weirded out because he's being nice to her. So she was being defensive not only because she hates that she still wants him, but because she assumed he would hate her. :)

**Guest1: **Thank you for your honesty! I went in a different direction with Jess, one where now that his life is good and he is happy he's not as... disturbed as he was as a teenager. I hope I still have his general tone in here though. Let me know if not!

**Guest2: **Thank you! That was what I was aiming for. To continue on with the Jess and Rory that was hinted upon during the ending of the series.


	3. 3

.

_three._

* * *

She wakes up with a headache from hell, her temples pounding red with each heartbeat. This isn't her bed. The pillow is too soft and the comforter is too thin and the sheets smell like a mixture of cigarette smoke, hair gel, and dusty old books. She knows this smell. She rolls over.

He's not there.

She looks around her. The empty dresser, the empty bookshelf, the empty CD rack. No one has lived here for a while, but yet it still smells like him. The bedroom door opens and in he walks, clad in nothing but a towel and his trademark smirk. She must smile back because he struts over to her and kneels down beside the bed.

"Morning."

She's going to say good morning back to him, but he leans in and presses his lips to hers. She's super aware of the possibility of her having a nasty case of morning breath, but he doesn't seem to care in the slightest.

He pulls away and she smiles at him lazily and plays with the hair at the nape of his neck with her fingers. She wants him to get back in bed with her. She can't remember much of last night, but if the warmth in his eyes is any indication of the events that'd taken place, she imagines they'd enjoyed themselves.

"Want some coffee?" he asks.

She nods. "Yes, please."

She puts her dress back on and follows him downstairs to the diner. It's closed, of course, because Luke is on his very first honeymoon. Rory sits at the bar while Jess brews her a pot of coffee and she hopes no nosey Stars Hollowans decide to peek in during their Sunday morning strolls. The last thing the two need is to be the latest piece of town gossip, or maybe she just doesn't want anyone to see her here with Jess and still in her bridesmaids dress and think less of her.

"Pancakes and eggs?" he asks as he pours her a mug of coffee.

"Yes, please."

He cooks in silence, and she sits in silence, watching him. Everything seems to come so effortlessly to him. His hair is still damp from only being towel dried, his skin emanating the smell of his bodywash. And as she watches him cook, she recalls the days back when, when he lived upstairs in that tiny room and skipped school to work at Walmart to buy a car to take her to see The Distillers play.

"Well you're just full of words today, aren't you?" he says as he scoops up the still sizzling eggs and slides them onto a plate.

"The verbal thing comes and goes," she jokes, when in reality she might be afraid that if she speaks, he'll disappear like a good dream.

He smirks down at the pancakes as they continue to brown and as she continues to watch him. "Last night was good, I think," he says after a moment and flips the cakes over onto their backs.

"I don't know. I think I might still be a little drunk."

"Well, what I meant was it was good for us." He slides the pancakes onto the plate with the eggs. "It's good that we finally got to... you know. It's been a long time coming."

"_I'll_ say," she agrees. He places the plate before her and she digs in to the cakes, suddenly ravenous. She swallows a too-big bite. "I can't remember ever being so physically compatible with anyone like that before." A forkful of scrambled eggs. "Although I really should've known. Physical stuff was always the stuff we were the best at."

He fixes his own plate and opts to continue to stand at the bar across from her instead of coming around to take a seat next to her. "Especially the second time," he says with that smirk that kills her.

She feels her face flush as she recalls the little she can of the night before. Jess's tiny bed, Jess's strong arms, Jess's warm skin, Jess's hot kisses, Jess's low tone whispering his enjoyment into her ear.

Jess drops his fork and spreads his hand through the air. "I can see the headlines over on Stars Hollow Juice now: Former Stars Hollow princess and not-so-friendly neighborhood hoodlum finally do it!"

Rory laughs and nearly chokes on her food. "Let's hope not," she says.

His features convey, only for a millisecond, the slightest amount of hurt before quickly morphing back into nonchalance, and she knows she's said the wrong thing.

"What, you're still ashamed of me?" he asks with a joking tone, but she can see right through him and she knows she's upset him.

She attempts to play it off. "No, of course not," she says. "I just don't want there to be a stupid town meeting about us, because it doesn't concern anyone else. It's none of their business." She doesn't want to push him away again. Because this thing they have between them, whatever it is, has been there since the start, and no matter how many times they drift apart, they find their way back to each other again, like magnets, inevitably. "And I was never ashamed of you," she adds.

He takes his final bite of food and stands up straighter than he had been. "Us?" he asks, but not warily. He seems half amused.

She gulps down the rest of her second cup of coffee, trying to buy herself some time before she has to answer him. Because she can feel his wall coming back up, the wall she'd spent the better part of a year breaking down, if only to let herself inside before it rose back up around them. And she was fine with the wall as long as she lived within its perimeters, but she's wary and worn, and she doubts she has the strength to find her way back in again.

"What I meant was we _do_ have a history," is what she comes up with. "And quite the complicated one. People will assume."

He raises his brows. "Well, you know what happens when you assume."

She hears the hostility sneaking into his voice, and it makes her feel defensive. What gives him the right to mock her after she'd bared herself to him last night? If he wants to push her away, she decides, let him. She'll be fine without him. She always has. The tether will pull them back to each other again when they're forty and divorced and maybe they'll get it right then.

"Look, forget I said anything." She pushes her empty plate towards him and puts on a front as if last night meant nothing to her at all. She's strong. She's independent. She doesn't need him. Let the wall come. She dares it to come. "We had a drunken one night stand. No big deal."

He takes her plate and stacks it atop his, setting them into the sink. "No big deal is right," he says. "It was exactly what we needed. Some closure."

A sudden wave of nausea hits her. She should know by now not to eat too much too fast while being hungover. She'd had a lot of practice nursing Logan. But the expected bile doesnt rise in her throat. So maybe it's not nausea. Maybe it's... No. It can't be worry. It can't be dread. It must be nausea.

"Closure," she repeats slowly. She's not strong. She might need him.

"Well, yeah," he says as he begins scrubbing the dishes. "We never even said goodbye the first time, remember? I just ran away."

Of course she remembers. She remembers every day.

"And remember all the times I came back? I told you I loved you and I left. I asked you to leave with me and I left. We had dinner with Sir Douche-a-lot and I left. And then the last time it was you who left. We never got a proper ending."

She can feel the heat rushing to her face, angry. Stupid boy. Stupid wall. Stupid Rory. "So that's what last night was, then? A goodbye?"

"Sure," he says, and it sounds final, but he pays great attention to the dishes and doesn't look her in the eyes. "Now we can continue on our lives and never have to wonder what it would've been like."

She hops down from the bar stool, done. "I guess I deserve that," she says, resigned, and tries her hardest to keep her voice from wavering. _Stupid girl; you should've known he doesn't know how to love. You've been down this road before, and he crashed the car and broke your wrist and ran away, and that first running should have been warning enough._

"Goodbye, Jess." She turns to leave.

"Goodbye, cousin," he says after her, but it doesn't sound the least bit broken. He sounds... almost proud.

As soon as she's out the door, she wishes she would've waited. Because it's nearly noon now and the church has just let out and people will see her and stare. Grateful that she's wearing a dress, she keeps her head down and tries to blend in as just another church-goer.

She wants to go home. Back to New York. Back to her life. Away from all the constant and painful reminders of her past. But she doesn't feel like packing. So instead of taking the left to get back to the house she grew up in, she takes a right. She walks to the middle of the bridge and dangles her feet over the water and cries.

* * *

**A/n: **Sorry this one's pretty short. I tried to continue on with it, but it didn't flow right. Because I'm writing chapters like episodes and I feel like this is all that would happen Lit-wise here. And I'm not about to write about L&L on their honeymoon because this is a J&R story and that's a whole other fic in itself so. Let me know how you like it or if you hate it. Cheers.


	4. 4

.

_four._

* * *

She's lonely. Lorelai and Luke are still sailing and camping or whatever it is they're doing up in Maine and her conversations with her mother are short and scattered. Paris and Doyle are still living together although they've both agreed to see other people and having telephone conversations with Paris right now is almost life-threatening, and Lane decided to take some classes at the community college and time not spent with the kids is time spent studying.

She's lonely. So lonely, in fact, that she considers getting a cat. She does some research on them — the different breeds, which ones fare better indoors, which ones shed more than others, the costs of the vaccinations, the overall costs of having one. She even goes so far as to call the nearest shelter, and when the woman on the line starts to schedule a time for Rory to come in and take a tour, she has a vision of herself at fifty years old, sitting on a sofa surrounded by cats, watching "I love Lucy" reruns and talking to them as if they're humans. She quickly tells the nice lady nevermind and hangs up.

She's lonely. She wishes he would call. But he doesn't.

She's working freelance right now, random pieces for whatever paper or magazine or online journal will take them. She does okay for herself, but she's in a bit of a creative rut, and she knows exactly what the reason is — _who_ the reason is — and she hates herself for it. She's applied for _The Times_ and _The New Yorker_ each twice now, but nothing has come of it so far. And she's so lonely.

She calls him on a Wednesday night after a few too many homemade cocktails. She waits five rings and then gets his voicemail: _"This is Jess Mariano. Leave a message if you feel you must."_

She comes to her senses and hangs up right before the beep.

He calls back within the minute, and she freaks out and chunks her phone across the room and into the sofa. It produces a dissatisfying thud and The Pixies keep playing their muffled tune as Rory listens in wide-eyed terror. The ringtone finishes its cycle and Rory clenches her eyes shut tight, muttering aloud, "Please don't leave a voicemail; please don't leave a voicemail; please don't leave a voicemail..."

_Ding_.

The tone that signals one new voicemail.

She sets her drink down and all but lunges for her phone, sure that if she doesn't listen to it in time that it will disappear. She brings it to her ear and presses play and holds her breath.

_"Hey. I've been thinking. We should talk. Call me back whenever. Bye."_

In her experience, "we _should_ talk" is always better than "we _need_ to talk." And she's had a few drinks. So she pulls her legs up underneath her on the sofa and takes a breath and calls him back.

_"Rory,"_ he answers, not a question.

"Jess," she replies, a statement.

_"Have you been drinking?" _he asks, but he sounds more worried than amused.

She's offended at first, because why would he just assume that she wouldn't have the desire or guts to call him had she not been drinking? But then she realizes he's right so she answers him. "Yes."

_"Good," _he says, and she can practically see the straight-faced, all business expression he's wearing. She thinks she knows him so well, but what he says next surprises her. _"I think we should be friends."_

She stands and walks back to her drink, bringing it up to her lips to take a much-needed sip. "Friends?"

_"Friends," _says Jess.

"Okay," says the alcohol.

_"Okay."_ He clears his throat._ "So I guess I'll talk to you later then."_

"Later. Sure."

_"Okay."_

"Okay."

_"Alright. Bye."_

"Bye."

_"Bye."_

_Click_.

"Bye."

* * *

**A/n:** Okay, so I've decided this is the way I'm gonna do it. Some chapters will be long and others will be short. Think of each chapter as an episode, though I'm just not including scenes without Lit. Because I keep getting stuck in regards to the pacing of things and I think producing shorter chapters if I need to will be faster for me to publish and faster for y'all to get to read them.

**WesterbergGal: **Their bitterness towards each other probably stems from my bitterness towards the fact that they weren't endgame. No, but seriously, Rory is bitter because she thought she met The One in Logan and it turns out when she sees Jess again she still wants him, despite all the heartache he'd brought her in the past, and she hates herself for still wanting him and takes it out on him. For Jess's bitterness, I'll touch on that in future chapters. Thanks for your concerns and I hope to clear some things up!

**inacent:** Thank you so much! I hope the same for myself too.


	5. 5

_five._

* * *

_I'm in Manhattan on business. Free for lunch?_

This is the text message that Rory has been staring blankly at for the past eleven minutes. She remembers that they're supposed to be friends now, but she's unsure how to respond. On the one hand, it's ten am and she's still in her pajamas, but on the other hand, all she's had in her stomach so far today is coffee and she's starving. She should get dressed and go have lunch with him. Prove to him that she's a big girl and that one measly one night stand with her ex-flame isn't going to make her bitter. She should feel free, even. The prospect of the two of them picking up where they'd left off was taken off the table almost as soon as it was placed atop it. There'd been no pro/con lists necessary. A decision made easy.

But she's scared.

Scared he'll see the truth on her face — that it _did_ affect her. She's been sleeping in later and later every day since she's been back home, and no matter how much coffee she downs, the memory of the comfort of her bed taunts her numerous times throughout the day, and then because of the copious amounts of coffee she stays up all night hating herself. She knows it's a mixture of the disappoinment she's recieving from the unpromising job department along with Jess's words repeating in her head like a mantra:_ "It was exactly what we needed. Some closure." _that's making her feel sloppy and mopey and pajama-y. She should get dressed and go have lunch with him. If not for any other reason, then because she deserves it.

Another text._ I'll be at Union Square Café on E 16th in about an hour if you'd like to join me._

Her stomach bubbles up like champagne. She finally replies.

_Out and about. I might stop by if I have the time._

She presses send and makes a run for the shower. She's only got an hour to look perfect.

* * *

She stops on the curb outside of the restaurant. She sees him through the window and her stomach flips and she almost turns back around. But then she sees the plate of food before him and her stomach rumbles in protest and she opens the door and walks in.

"Hey, Gilmore," Jess says cheerily as he sees her. He stands in greeting and pulls her in for an awkward embrace that Rory would rather like to never have to relive again. She sits in the booth across from him.

"You know what you wanna eat? This place has the best chicken caesar wraps," he says as he gestures to his grilled chicken caesar wrap on a wheat tortilla.

Her stomach aches more and more at the sight of everything on the menu. And then she sees it, all dressed up and glorious in its greasy beauty. "I'm gonna have the cheesburger and onion rings."

He smirks. "You're really gonna kill yourself if you keep eating like that."

"Now you sound like Luke," she reprimands him, and she knows her mother would be proud of her for continuing their silent feud against the 'unfriendly vegan eco-freaks'.

The waitress comes to take her order, and Rory lifts her brows as the woman flirts hardcore with Jess. _Does she have no class?_ she wonders. _Does she not see that_ _he's here with someone? _Albiet, just a friend, but this is something she has no way of knowing. Jess smirks at the woman and her popping-out breasts as she brings refills and Rory sips on her Coke and pretends not to notice.

"So, Rory, how've you been?" he asks once the waitress trots off.

"I've been fine."

"Good. That's good."

She clears her throat, unsure of where to take this conversation. "Um, and you?"

"Oh, I've been great. Really, really great." He emphasizes the reallies in a way that makes her stomach churn. She wonders how many girls he's slept with since her, and if he'd like to sleep with their waitress, and she has to gulp down her Coke to keep herself from asking.

"I read your piece for Huffington Post."

This doesn't really come as a surprise to her. He's probably the only one who had. She decides this is safe to voice aloud. "Probably the only one," she says with a scoff.

"Now, come on," he disagrees. "Global warming: fact or hoax? And the right and left wing's views on it? That's something that's never been covered before."

She sees the familiar teasing spark in his eyes and it makes her angry. "Don't mock. The job market isn't exactly doing me any favors right now." She looks down at the table, ashamed. "I added a few new points in there."

"I know," Jess replies and downs the remainder of his first iced tea so he can move on to the fresh one. "I read it."

And suddenly she's angry. "What is going on, Jess?"

"What do you mean?" he asks as he takes the first bite of the second half of his wrap since she'd arrived.

"With us," she explains impatiently.

Chews slowly, swallows even slower, purposefully agitating, remembers exactly how to push her buttons. "We're friends."

"Okay, but why?"

Jess is silent for a few moments then, just looking at her. Her face is red hot beneath his gaze, but she is sure that if she looks away from him that the seriousness of her question will be diminished.

"Would you rather us not be friends?" he asks finally.

"I don't know," she realizes. "We had one admittedly really great night. And if it was good closure for you, then that's great. But participating in a half-assed version of friendship isn't doing anything for me except making me wish I'd never slept with you that night so I wouldn't have to be here right now pretending this is all normal!"

Rory takes a deep breath and drinks more Coke and Jess raises his brows.

"Huh."

"Sorry that was a little harsh, but you drove me to it," she says and rests her head in her hands. "Maybe I'm the one who needs some closure now."

"Trust me," he scoffs, "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

A squeeze of her gut begs her to ask him why not, but she doesn't. "So where do we go from here?"

"From the looks of it," he says with a brush back of his hair, "we have two options. We can continue on with this half-assed version of friendship, or we can say all's well that ends well and be on our merry ways."

Rory sighs. "I don't like either of those options," she says truthfully, although she doesn't mention that her way hasn't been too merry lately.

"Neither do I."

The waitress returns with her food, and this time Rory doesn't pay much attention to the woman's obvious advances towards Jess because _BURGER_. She finishes about half of it within the first three bites, and she looks up and he is smirking at her in the same amused way that he always used to when she ate in front of him. She eats and doesn't say anything and he watches and doesn't say anything and it's really not as bad as she'd made it out to be. They always did fare well in the silence.

She swallows her last bite, not a crumb left on her plate. "Did you come up with a third option?" she asks, desperation tinting her tone.

"You could show me where you live."

She looks up at him slowly, and he is not smirking, and her heart stops working and her brain scolds it for being lax. "Don't you have to get back to work?"

"I took off today," he answers, and while his features remain expressionless, she sees another familiar spark in his eye. But it's not teasing this time. It's darker. Scarier. Lustier.

He hadn't been here on business. He'd come all this way for the slight chance that she'd join him.

"Okay."

* * *

She twists the key in the lock and he follows her into her apartment's scarcely used kitchen.

"So. This is it."

He lets out a signature "Huh," and slides a finger across the countertop. "This is nice. What is that, marble?"

She gives him a look as if to say_ 'Ha ha, very funny'_, because she definitely can't afford any apartment that features marble countertops right now. "Want some coffee?"

"I hate coffee."

"Just making sure the whole working class man thing hasn't changed your aversion to it."

"Nope. Still tastes like dirt. ...There's a reason they call it coffee _grounds_."

Rory can't help but to grin even though she might be secondhandedly embarrassed for him. "That's terrible," she says with a laugh.

He laughs, too. "Yeah."

Rory continues on into the adjoining living room, the bookshelf impressively filled but the coffee table covered in notes and empty mugs and the throw pillows on the couch awry. "Sorry it's a mess. I haven't been sleeping much at night."

"I know the feeling," Jess agrees. "Sometimes I think my living room sees more action from me than my bed does."

Rory chuckles politely although his joke has left her feeling uncomfortable. She focuses her frustrated energy into organizing the contents of the table and repositiong the pillows into a more homey image. "Would you, uh, would you like to sit down?"

He smirks at her as she tidies. "Not really." He shoves his hands into his pockets and lifts his shoulders up to his jaw, and he's just so darn cute that when he averts his eyes from hers and asks, "You could show me your room?" she can't bring herself to refuse although she knows in her gut that it's a bad idea when he brings his eyes back to hers.

It's not much, really, with only a bed, a dresser, and a nightsand to show for itself. The slightly opened top dresser drawer left abandoned during her frenzy to get ready this morning is the lone indication that someone even lives in this room, despite the fact that Rory sleeps most of her mornings away atop that mattress.

"So this is where Rory Gilmore sleeps," Jess muses aloud. "I'd expected it to be a little more disheveled, honestly."

Rory pulls her brows together as she gives Jess a look of confusion. She holds a reputation for never having even one button out of place. Who is he to challenge that? "And why might that be?" she asks, her tone almost angry.

"Because now I know how you are in bed," he answers, his hands still in his pockets. He nudges her shoulder. "You left my sheets pretty ruffled."

And this, this right here is the reason she should've known better than to let him into her bedroom, than to let him into her apartment, than to accept his invitation for lunch. She continues to hold his gaze although she can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. The air in the room has changed, and she knows Jess can feel it too because suddenly he's not smirking anymore.

He takes a step closer to her, reaches out a hand and grazes the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. When she doesn't protest, he steps in even closer and cups her face in his hand.

"Jess..." she half warns, half sighs.

"Tell me to stop, and I will," he says. And then he leans in devastatingly slowly to press his lips to her jaw, allowing her ample time to stop him.

But she doesn't.

* * *

"I'm thinking about moving back home."

They're laying beneath the sheets, her head on his bare chest and his fingers tying and untying knots in her hair. He doesn't say anything, just moves his hand from her hair and down her naked arm and slides his fingertips back up it, up and down, up and down, a tiny motion just to let her know he's listening.

"I'm just stuck right now! I'm in a rut. I'm having no luck in the job department; my friends are all too busy for me; I stay up all night and sleep all day. I even almost got a cat the other day. Can you picture me with a cat? Because _I_ could, and it was terrifying." She pauses for a moment and he moves his touch from her arm back to her hair. "Maybe I just need a change of pace, you know? A change of scenery. I could ask Luke to rent out the apartment to me. Or I could take a room at the inn, even. I mean, it wouldn't be for long. Only until I get back on my feet."

Jess doesn't say anything for a while, and his fingers have stopped moving, and she thinks he might've fallen asleep but doesn't want to lift her head to see for fear of waking him. And just when she's about to close her eyes and give in to the impending nap as well, he speaks. And what he says is not at all what she'd been expecting.

"You could come live with me."

She sits up immediately, a knee-jerk reaction, pulling the sheet up with her and prompting him to sit up too. "What?"

He only shrugs. "You might have better luck finding a job in Philly. We have newspapers, too, you know." When she isn't fully convinced, he goes on. "Plus, Matt and Chris both found girls and moved out, so I'm sitting here with this empty three bedroom loft and nothing to fill it with and there's only one of me at the moment. And it'd be nice to have some help with the rent."

Rory continues to stare at him blankly, the inevitable pro/con list already writing itself out in her mind.

He lays back down. "You don't have to, Rory," he says, allowing her an easy out. "It was only a suggestion."

"Okay," she says, her heart doing that weird not beating thing again.

His eyes are closed. "Okay, it was only a suggestion?"

It starts beating again, this time at double the speed. She takes a breath. "Okay, I'll move in with you."

She waits for him to open his eyes, and she's grinning like mad from ear to ear, but he doesn't. He only instructs her. "There's no cats allowed in the Mariano flat."

She tries to stop smiling, but she can't, and as she lowers her head back down onto his chest, she swears she sees the first hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

* * *

**A/n:** Sorry it took me like three years to post this. I was having an aggravating bit of writer's block for a good minute, but at least I got my mojo back long enough to post this next chapter, and at triple the length of the previous one, too! Love me for their reconciliation and the insinuation of a deed been done did.


End file.
